Well, I promised a good chapter
and dammit if this isn't a chapter when Stuff Happens. I sincerely
hope you guys enjoy it.

Chapter Eleven: The Break Day

Thursday 2nd
July, 10:00am

What Draco had already termed in his
head as Break Day, important enough to earn capitalisation, dawned.
When he walked out of the bedroom it was to find Harry at the
bathroom mirror across the hall, already dressed and carefully
performing glamours to alter his appearance. Harry turned his head to
greet him and Draco was startled to see that those vivid
almond-shaped green eyes had been changed into nondescript brown
ones, in an effect that was...unsettling.

"I..." Potter without those eyes
was like seeing someone walking around without a head. It was
unnatural, and now that they were gone Draco, stupidly, missed seeing
them. He shook his head. "Nothing," he said quickly. "Just...you
already look so different."

"That's kind of the point,
Draco," Harry said good-naturedly, turning his attention back to
the mirror. "I don't want anyone to recognise us and spoil this
day."

Draco remained where he was,
watching as Harry lengthened his nose, and then widened his jawline.
When his wand went towards his head full of inky black, messy hair
though, Draco couldn't restrain himself from shouting "NO!"

Startled, Harry turned towards
Draco, silently asking for an explanation for his behaviour. "It's
just...you have nice hair," Draco mumbled, completely mortified,
and promptly turned and fled for the refuge of the kitchen.

Harry thoughtfully watched him go,
pleased at the compliment but unsure what to make of it. Before the
incident Draco had always loved Harry's hair, and frequently took
great pleasure in running his hands through it even when they weren't
in bed together.

Don't be silly, Harry
scoffed at himself, trying to crush the hope that had fluttered to
life in his chest as he turned back towards the mirror. That was
then, this is now. Just because you got together back in fifth year
doesn't mean you will now. For all you know, the thing at Animus
turned him straight.

In the kitchen, Draco was organising
himself a bowl of cereal and desperately trying not to freak out.
Today's meant to be a relaxing day, he told himself. A
fun day. Doing something stupid like admitting to Potter that you
think his hair is nice is not relaxing at all.

Ten minutes later when Harry entered
the kitchen, Draco was still mentally kicking himself for saying
something stupid and determinedly not examining why he'd said it.
Yes, Potter's hair was nice, but that wasn't the only thing nice
about Potter...

Bad road, Draco, he
reprimanded himself, and then jumped to see Potter leaning against
the bench. Except it didn't really look like Potter. The black mess
of hair was now mouse brown, boringly styled and unremarkable in
every way. It seemed like every aspect of Potter's face had been
changed, from the obscuring of his scar right down to the miniscule
details of his cheekbones, his mouth, his teeth even. He seemed
notably shorter and while not overweight, the streamlined leanness of
his build was gone.

Intellectually Draco knew it was
Potter standing in the kitchen, but his eyes were telling him
otherwise.

It was dismaying, but very
impressive.

"Nice job there, Potter," Draco
said as casually as he could, standing to deposit his bowl into the
dishwasher. "You look like a completely different person."

"Thanks," Harry said evenly.
"Let me know when you're dressed, and then I'll do yours."

It took some time but eventually
they were fully glamoured and ready to go. Draco's short, silky
blonde hair was now shoulder-length and auburn, his telltale Malfoy
alabaster complexion darkened several shades, the refined,
aristocratic features of his face broadened, his distinctive sharp
jawline softened, his grey eyes now deep blue.

Weirdly enough, once Potter was
finished with him he stood still for a moment, taking in what he had
just created and looking inordinately sad and wistful.

"What's the problem, Potter?"
Draco demanded.

"Huh? Oh, nothing," Harry
murmured, tucking his wand away into the sleeve of his robes and
avoiding Draco's eyes. "I just prefer you the way you usually
look."

Draco blinked. Does he mean...?

"Anyway," Harry said, suddenly
overloud and falsely jovial, "I'll have to re-apply the glamours
every four hours or so, otherwise they'll disappear." He checked
his watch. "We should get going." He looked back up, seeming shy
all of a sudden as he offered an arm to Draco for the Apparation.
"Ready?"

Draco swallowed, feeling a sudden
sense of foreboding. "Yep." He slipped his arm through Harry's,
and got a brief sense of the body warmth emitting from the other boy
before Harry twisted away from him and Draco was being dragged along
for the ride.

--

They arrived on the side of the
roughly-hewn road which had been leading Hogwarts students to the
wizarding village for generations. Draco could see the houses and
chimneys and the occasional witch or wizard milling amongst the
shops. It was mid morning, before the lunchtime rush, so they
wouldn't have to navigate through any large crowds.

The sight of Hogsmeade evoked a rush
of school memories, and Draco almost wanted to cry with joy because
here at last was something he could actually remember, something he
didn't need Potter or Granger or Pansy to tell him. Memories.
And he began babbling, somehow anxious to prove himself to
Potter, like a child saying see, see, I do remember something!

"I remember Pansy and I tried to
sneak down here at the end of fourth year. We had this elaborate plan
to get Madam Rosmerta to serve us Firewhiskey, and we'd come back
to Slytherin and be hailed as kings."

Harry looked over at Draco and saw
with astonishment an expression of contentment on his face, his eyes
lit up in joy, and he understood immediately it was from the joy of
remembering. He smiled fondly at Draco and encouraged him, "And
then what happened?"

They started walking towards
Hogsmeade, Draco talking with relish about their harebrained scheme
to get to the village and how they avoided being caught by Filch no
less than three times before finally being forced to bow the
inevitable.

"He dragged us back to the school
to serve detention on the spot," Draco said fondly as they passed
the first of the buildings of the village. "We got back to
Slytherin not as heroes but as laughing stocks for actually being
caught."

Harry laughed, although in truth he
had heard that story before, but for the amount of joy this was
bringing Draco he would rather have cut off his arm than admit to
that.

They walked along in silence for a
few moments, each glancing around and taking in the current-day
Hogsmeade. During the War, the village had been the site of several
significant clashes between the Order and the Death Eaters. Numerous
homes had been severely damaged, many more completely destroyed. The
village Post Office had been among the popular destinations for
Hogwarts students which had suffered in the battles. In the months
since the defeat of Voldemort, however, the wizarding world had been
rallying behind places like Hogsmeade which had been devastated by
the conflict. Slowly, the village had gotten back on its feet, and
some three months later the damage to the buildings had been
significantly reduced.

Maybe he would talk about that to
Draco another day, Harry mused. Today was meant to be a day to forget
the serious things, to think about the good and enjoy themselves and
have fun.

"Where do you want to go first?"
Harry asked.

"Honeydukes," Draco said
immediately.

They directed their steps towards
the sweet shop. Inside, the warm scent of freshly made chocolate
enveloped them, the shelves groaning under the weight of every candy
imaginable. Draco's face lit up like a Christmas tree, and he
immediately commenced to moving from shelf to shelf exclaiming over
various items.

Harry watched him affectionately for
a moment before making a beeline to the Chocolate Cauldrons, which
had been Draco's favourite sweet for as long as he'd known him.
Waiting until Draco was at the opposite end of the store to the
counter, Harry quickly purchased a bag of them and then headed to
where Draco was examining the Sugar Quills.

"Midway through third year I went
through three of these a day," he said to Harry as Harry
approached. "They became very addictive...and very bad for my
teeth. Took several weeks of dental restorative charms to get them
back to normal."

Harry laughed appreciatively. "Dean
Thomas from my year had a similar thing, except he went through it
much later, in like sixth year or something."

"Typical Gryffindor," Draco
snorted, but he was smiling.

How to do this without coming off
like a total obsessed stalker, Harry wondered, reflexively
gripping the bag of Chocolate Cauldrons.

"Ah, Draco?" he said nervously.
When Draco turned towards him, he awkwardly stuck out his hand,
holding the bag between them. "I, um, got you something."

Draco looked at the bag, cheerfully
stamped with the Honeydukes logo, then at Harry, then back again.
"You got me something?" he repeated. "How? When? We've only
been here for like ten minutes."

"Er, I have my ways," Harry said
lamely.

Draco quirked an eyebrow. "Alright
then. Thanks." He accepted the bag, tugged it open and peered
inside. "Chocolate Cauldrons!" he exclaimed gleefully, reaching
in at once to retrieve one and commence unwrapping it. "These are
my absolute favourite! How did you...?" He trailed off and looked
up at Harry, realisation slowly dawning across his face.

"These were always your
favourite," Harry said carefully, "I remember how much you love
them, and I just thought...it would be..."

"A nice thing to do?" Draco
finished quietly. He looked back at the bag, and for a moment Harry
envisioned the bag being thrown in his face for his presumption,
Draco storming out, and the day being ruined. Draco did look up, and
he seemed almost exasperated as he said, "You just can't help
yourself can you, Potter?" but then he smiled, and his eyes, deep
blue from the glamour, were sparkling. "Thanks."

--

From Honeydukes, Harry and Draco
went on to the Hogsmeade branch of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, which
Fred and George had opened following the end of the War. The twins
weren't there as they lived above the original Diagon Alley branch
and personally oversaw the running of the business there, but Harry
was pleasantly surprised to see Lee Jordan, still dreadlocked and the
appointed Manager of the Hogsmeade branch.

Of course, with the glamours it was
quite impossible to just go up to Lee and strike up a conversation as
old friends, Lee wouldn't recognise him, but it was still
comforting to see an old friend who had survived the war and was
doing well for himself.

He and Draco didn't purchase
anything from the store, having no real need for practical joke items
when they weren't at school anymore. Emerging out into the
sunlight, Draco eyes lighted upon the one place in Hogsmeade, besides
Honeydukes, he'd always loved the best.

Gladrags Wizardwear.

Seeing Draco's face light up,
Harry followed his gaze and smiled wryly when his eye fell upon the
clothing store further down the street. "I thought the closet was
full enough as it is," he remarked.

Draco shot him a derisive look. "How
can you not know that when one closet is full, it's a sign for you
to start filling up another?" he said primly. "One can never have
enough clothes." But Draco was smiling, and Harry grinned as well.

"I'll take your word for it,"
he said amusedly. "But I can guess where we're headed next."

Once inside Gladrags, Draco began to
act like a Cornish Pixie on speed, zipping around to every rack and
back again, chattering animatedly with the pretty blonde shop
assistant.

Harry lurked as inconspicuously as
he could near a table covered in socks in the corner. Clothes
shopping had always been Draco's thing, not his. For the time they
were going out, Harry had always just let Draco choose his clothes,
finding it far easier to trust the blonde's fashion sense. He felt
warm with affection watching Draco earnestly debate the merits of
silk versus satin with the shop assistant, waving his arms when he
was making a particularly pressing point.

The day, Harry reflected, had been
good so far. It was nice to be in an environment where there wasn't
any pressure coming from who they were, or what had happened at
Animus. The walls that Draco had put up after seeing his mother were
weakening, and it almost felt like they'd gone back in time, to the
days when they had just been together, and happy for it. Of
course, there was obviously a significant difference between then and
now, being that however much Harry's heart and body still ached for
Draco, he knew the feeling wasn't returned.

For a good hour at least Draco
gleefully shopped whilst Harry looked on. Finally it seemed to get to
a point where Draco decided the massive pile of material strewn over
the front counter would suffice, and he sought Harry out.

"Potter," he said quietly so
that Melody the shop assistant wouldn't overhear and alert the
media.

Harry glanced up from where he'd been idly examining
a pile of scarves. "You done?"

"What?" When Draco continued to
frown at his clothes, Harry backed up several paces, his hands
outstretched in a silent plea. "Oh no. No, no. I've got all the
clothes I need, thank you, I do not need any more."

Seeing the pleading expression on
Draco's face, he capitulated, as he somehow knew he inevitably
would. "Just a few things," he cautioned. "I don't want to go
overboard."

Draco grinned sunnily, and seizing Harry's
arm, tugged him towards the centre of the store and the
all-too-willing attentions of Melody. "You won't regret it," he
assured Harry before pushing him into a seat and commencing with
another heated debate, this time over the relative pros and cons of
wearing blue or green.

--

After another hour and a half spent
inside Gladrags, Harry and Draco emerged with receipts for some
twenty bags worth of purchases, all of which they'd arranged to be
shrunk and delivered by owl to the apartment. The price of just one
of Harry's outfits had made him slightly dizzy, let alone the
thought of the five separate ensembles Draco had put together. But
Draco had just handed over a satchel of Galleons like it was nothing.

Checking the time, Harry was alarmed
to see that it was nearly four hours since they'd left the
apartment, and thus it was high time for the glamours to be
reapplied. Telling Draco as such, he hurried them both into the
nearby public restrooms, which were thankfully deserted, and hastily
re-did the spell work from before.

"Where to now, Potter?" Draco
asked as they emerged back onto the street.

Harry's stomach was rumbling, so
the answer was obvious enough. Insisting on buying lunch as a small
repayment in return for the clothes, Harry led the way to Hog's
Head. Still run by Aberforth Dumbledore, the pub had been cleaned up
significantly following the general air of renovation that had swept
the village following the war. The windows were no longer grimy, the
floor no longer layered with dirt, although it was still considered
inferior as a gathering spot to the Three Broomsticks, with some of
the clientele being more on the seedy side for comfort. Regardless,
the pair enjoyed themselves there, talking amiably while they waited
for their meals.

Harry avoided the eye of the younger
Dumbledore brother. He knew Aberforth wouldn't recognise him under
the glamour, but the sight of those bright blue eyes so like his
brothers' caused Harry a pang of sorrow for his deceased
Headmaster, and Harry determinedly tried to focus his mind to more
cheerful things.

By the time they'd finished lunch
it was well past 3 o' clock in the afternoon, and despite the many
joys of Hogsmeade, they were running out of things to do.

"Shrieking Shack?" Draco
suggested half-heartedly.

Harry tensed, not wanting to let his
own bad memories of the place spoil things. There wasn't much else
to do in the village, and he'd wanted to stay for dinner at the
Three Broomsticks at least...

"Sure," he said finally, faking
a cheery smile.

They started walking, past all the
cosy looking cottages and houses of the village, past the shops,
heading towards the outskirts of Hogsmeade where the Shack was
located. They leaned against the long fence which had been erected to
keep curious locals from the supposedly haunted structure, not that
any local residents needed incentive to stay away from the infamous
building.

"I wonder if it's really
haunted," Draco mused.

Harry stared across to the Shack and
thought of Lupin, which, inevitably, lead him to think of Sirius.

"It isn't," he said flatly
after a few quiet moments. "Remus Lupin used it every full moon for
his transformations when he was at school. There was a tunnel beneath
the Whomping Willow which leads straight to it. He was escorted there
and back each time, so he wouldn't be a danger to anyone else."

"He married your cousin,
Nymphadora Tonks, the last year of school. They're expecting their
first child by the end of the year."

'Huh." Draco seemed to digest
this.

Harry forcibly pulled his thoughts
away from the direction they were heading. Lupin and Tonks'
wedding, just before graduation, with he and Sirius as best men. Just
months later, Sirius was dead, killed in a skirmish battle between
the Order and the Death Eaters before the real War began in earnest,
and Tonks and Lupin separated in the chaos, forced into hiding for a
month, not knowing if the other was okay or not.

That's in the past, Harry
said sternly to himself. Nothing you can do to change it now. But
it kept coming, the trauma of the actual war itself, the endless
battles, the curses, the screams, the wails of the bereaved, the
bravery, the cowardice, the violence...

Then the memory that Harry was sure
Draco had gone to Animus with, had suffered with for months in
stubborn refusal to reach out for help even from his boyfriend. Draco
raising his wand to his father to save Harry. Irrational guilt swept
through him like a wave, crashing against his insides and gnawing at
his brain. If only, if only, if only. If only he could've
fought Lucius off himself, if only he had seen how much pain Draco
had been in...

"Y..." Harry cut himself off and
reconsidered. "Not really," he said quietly, so quietly Draco
could barely hear him.

"What's the matter?" Draco was
truly facing him now, all concern.

"Just..." Harry sucked in a
breath, feeling both stupid and angry with himself for ruining the
peace of the day. "Just thinking about the War."

And Animus. It was the
inevitable addition to every thought, dominating their interactions
even now when they'd fled to Scotland to escape the memory.

Draco stayed still for several
moments, and then surprisingly turned took Harry by the shoulders,
forcing him to meet his eye. "Hey," he said, in as gentle a tone
as he'd ever used. "I am sorry, Potter, if you miss...if
you miss the me I was before. What I was to you. Really, I am. I wish
I could..." he paused, thinking. "Well, I don't really wish I
could be the exact same Draco as that. But I wish I could be someone
who has those memories...of the things that happened at school, in
the War."

"It's okay," Harry said
quickly, but Draco was shaking his head, his expression solemn as he
looked earnestly at Harry.

"It's not," he insisted.
"Whatever was wrong with me that made me go to Animus, I just want
to apologise for going there in the first place."

Harry felt punch-drunk. The warmth
of Draco's palms on his shoulders, the proximity of him, the scent,
the sincerity shining in his eyes...Harry longed to lean forward and
kiss him, and found himself unable to respond to what Draco was
actually saying.

"I'm sorry," Draco said.

Kiss him, kiss him, kiss him...

Harry swallowed hard and stepped
back, turning to look at the Shrieking Shack in the distance, trying
to cool the rapid heating of his blood and concentrate on what had
just happened. He knew Draco had been resenting the idea of
pre-Animus Draco, could easily guess that Harry's desperate sadness
at no longer having his lover must've created some feelings of
inadequacy in Draco. And here he was, apologising for what pre-Animus
Draco had done, apologising for not being pre-Animus Draco.

For the first time, it seemed like
something was salvageable between them. If not the romantic aspect,
then at least perhaps a kind of friendship. It wasn't all that
Harry wanted, but for now, he decided, it was enough.

"You didn't have to apologise,"
Harry said softly, glancing away from the Shack to Draco, who had
been watching Harry and waiting anxiously for a response. Harry
smiled. "Who you are...you're different to the Draco I knew. But
I'm starting to realise...that isn't a bad thing."

Draco smiled shakily back, feeling
almost like he wanted to gag on the sheer sweetness and sincerity of
it all. He had meant what he'd said, of course, but when Harry came
back with something like that...

Well, it was all very well and good
to try and keep in mind what Pansy had said about them 'needing'
each other, and 'if Potter being so nice to you freaks you out,
get over it,' but it seemed like every time Draco turned around
Potter would outdo himself, randomly presenting him with his
favourite candy, laughing at Draco's jokes over lunch, getting
nicer and nicer. For crying out loud, his body said nineteen year
old, mature adult, but there was a part of his head that said fifteen
year old adolescent who hates Potter. Admittedly yes, that
part was getting less and less dominant with the more time he spent
with Potter, but it was still there.

"Let's head back," he said
loudly, resolutely turning his back on the Shack and the strange
exchange that had just taken place. "This place still gives me the
creeps."

Harry fell into step beside Draco as
they began to head back towards the village. He wasn't sure exactly
what was going through Draco's head now, but he felt like the
moment needed a subject change. Desperately. So he resorted to one of
the few things he'd seen make post-Animus Draco happy. Remembering.

"Remember in third year," He
said, "when you stumbled upon Ron and Hermione here, and I was
throwing things at you and you tripped over my Cloak and all you
could see was my head?"

Draco shot him a look from the
corner of his eye, but he was smiling slightly. "I'll have you
know I had nightmares for several weeks afterwards about that," he
said haughtily. "It wasn't something to be laughed at, the trauma
that came from seeing your floating head appear out of nowhere."

"Oh but it was," Harry grinned.
"I will treasure the expression on your face until the day I die."

Their footsteps echoed on the ground
as they continued walking towards the village, bantering playfully,
the serious mood they'd so recently been in the thralls of
momentarily forgotten.

--

Azkaban Prison

The Department representative sent
by Ridgeworth came hurrying out from the cell ward Lucia was
imprisoned within, far too pale, a spooked expression on his face.

The Ministry of Magic official who
had accompanied him on the mission was standing and waiting for him.
Taking in his appearance, she quirked an eyebrow silently in
question. "Well?" she probed. "Did she make any statement?"

"No," the representative said
unsteadily. "She's..." he seemed to hesitate. "She's going
steadily downhill, I think. I recorded the whole...exchange, because
it wasn't really a conversation."

"What happened?"

"I did what Ridgeworth instructed,
introduced myself, said it was my duty to inform her that an official
date had been set for her trial, that she would be trialled by the
Wizengamot, that most unfortunately since the withdrawal of Joseph
Valorius from the case she has no legal representation although the
Ministry will provide one if she so requests it, et cetera..."

He swallowed thickly, recalling her
emaciated state, the crazed look in her eyes, the way her gaze had
drifted off to the side every now and then as he had spoken, as
though she was listening intently to something he couldn't hear. "I
said every bit of the statement Ridgeworth dictated. And when I was
done, do you know what she did?"

"What?"

"Looked me right in the eye, and
laughed."

--

The Three Broomsticks, 6:00pm

By that evening, Harry and Draco
were crowded together in a small booth for dinner in Hogsmeade's
favourite pub, sharing the contents of a sizeable bowl of pasta and
cheerfully reminiscing about the school years and incidents Draco
could remember.

"It wasn't my idea to
dress up as a Dementor, you know," Draco insisted, waving a forkful
of pasta to emphasise his point. "It was that idiot Marcus Flint,
he was thick enough to believe it would work. I went along with it
because I was desperate to embarrass you."

Harry laughed delightedly. "Ended
up having the opposite effect though," he pointed out. "As I
recall you were on the ground, struggling to get out of those robes."

Draco merely rolled his eyes,
although his cheeks did tinge slightly pink from the memory. "Well,
I guess I should've known better than to try and cross the great
Harry Potter," he drawled, but his eyes were shining.

Harry laughed again and took a bite
of his pasta. Chewing slowly, he looked around the teeming pub,
feeling a warm glow of happiness flaring in his chest. To be back in
this familiar, beloved place, joking around with Draco as though the
War, Animus, hadn't even happened...this day was a fantastic idea,
he decided, looking across to Draco and smiling again.

"Oui, bonjour, I had a six o'clock
reservation for Evander Mauvais, s'il vous plait."

Their booth was right near the door,
and Harry barely thought anything at first of the quiet, heavily
accented voice coming from the counter metres away as two more
patrons entered the pub.

The waitress whose duty it was to
greet guests and guide them to their tables murmured, "Ah yes,
Evander Mauvais, a table over by the window. Right this way, Monsieur
Mauvais."

I've heard that name before,
Harry pondered, idly watching the man whom the waitress had addressed
gesture to someone behind him. He was tall and broad shouldered,
dressed suavely in colours which subtly highlighted the chestnut
shade of his long hair, which tumbled over his shoulders and shone in
the light of the candles scattered around the room. There was a
certain hard quality to his facial features which rendered them sharp
and unyielding and took away any of the handsomeness that could've
existed in his face.

The person with him was another man,
by contrast almost paralysing in his handsomeness, even taller than
the first. He reminded Harry strongly of a conventionally attractive
male model – chiselled features, square jaw, hair messed up just
so.

He watched the pair as they moved
past the booth where he and Draco sat, heading towards a table
perpendicular to them, beside a window as promised by the waitress.

And then it hit him.

"Evander Mauvais," Harry said
aloud, perhaps a touch too noisily because the chestnut-haired man
looked around sharply, just once for a tense moment, before his
shoulders relaxed and he continued on his way.

"What's that, Potter?" Draco
said.

"Evander Mauvais," Harry
repeated, albeit more softly this time. "The waitress said his name
when he came in and it seemed familiar. I think I remember now. He
owns Animus, he was the founder of the company, and there was a
statement or something from him in Saturday's Prophet in an article
about Lucia's arrest." Harry frowned absently. "He spoke with
an accent, I didn't realise he was French."

Draco whipped his head around,
decorum forgotten in his curiosity. "Where is he?"

"By the window," Harry said.
"With the bloke who looks like a model."

Draco's eyes lit upon the figure
almost immediately. He was leaning forward, his eyes heavily lidded
as he spoke to the model boy. As he watched, Evander reached out and
stroked the back of his hand slowly down his companion's cheek.

"That guy owns the business that
hired, and paid, the bitch who tried to kill me," Draco said
thoughtfully, somehow unable to look away as Evander and Model Boy
seemed to move closer and closer together. "I should go over there
and threaten to sue his arse off."

"No, no," Harry said quickly,
reaching out to lay a warning hand on Draco's arm. "Remember,
you're in glamours, he won't know who you are. And besides,"
and now his voice took on a pleading tone, "today's been such a
good day, let's not spoil it. I'm not saying you shouldn't sue
him for something, or at least threaten to, but just...not now,
Draco, please?"

Draco dragged his gaze away from the
man to look at Harry, who had his eyebrows raised, his expression
silently pleading. In any other world Draco would've told Harry to
go to hell, but this was a strange world, the one he'd woken up to,
and loath as he was to admit it, he had had a good day in Hogsmeade
with Potter. A day away from everything had been exactly what he'd
needed. He felt very tired all of a sudden, melancholic at the
thought that he could go to a different country and still have
reminders of bleeding Animus, even if it was just the owner of
the place.

They finished the rest of their
meal, their conversation resuming its nostalgic tone. But Draco
couldn't help glancing over at the pair by the window. By the time
it was nearing half past six and almost time to leave, Draco looked
over once more only to see Evander now engaging in a full out snog
with Model Boy.

Draco watched them for a moment,
feeling a strange twinge in his stomach at the sight. Huh. It
seemed...odd, that the Animus owner seemed to be gay. And very into
that kind of thing, by the looks of it.

He heard a small sigh beside him,
and looked up to see that Harry was watching the couple too, looking
almost wistful. "He seems to be coping," Harry said, his wry tone
at complete odds with his expression. He coughed and glanced down at
his watch. "We have to go in a few minutes. You wait near the door,
I just need to duck to the bathroom and then settle the bill. We'll
Apparate home outside."

They stood up, Harry disappearing in
the crowd, heading for the bathroom, Draco taking the few steps
necessary to stand beside the counter near the front door to the pub.
He idly drummed his fingers against the wood, humming a random tune,
his gaze drawn like a magnet back to the pair by the window. They
were still making out over the tabletop, and there was something
definitely indecent about the way Evander was touching Model Boy.

Draco felt a twinge, the slightest
twinge, of arousal and hurriedly tore his gaze away. You are still
a teenage boy, he told himself, it's perfectly normal, it's
been awhile, you're just a little sexually frustrated, you may feel
fifteen sometimes and that's why the slightest thing can turn you
on...but he couldn't shake the hollow, empty feeling of longing
in his chest the sight had evoked in him. Evander's connection to
Animus seemed to pale into insignificance now in the sudden wave of
yearning he found himself enveloped in.

Desperate to distract himself, Draco
made a show of studying the Daily Prophets lined up on the counter,
awaiting any customers' perusal if so desired. His eyes, still a
deep blue under the glamour, flicked carelessly across the pile,
skimming the front pages. He wasn't really paying attention to what
he was seeing, until his eyes caught upon a headline which made his
blood run cold.

His gaze flicked disbelievingly to
the date of the paper. Monday June 29th. He frantically
read the front page article beneath the screaming headline. Then
again. Once more for good measure. He felt shaky, unsteady on his
feet, his stomach churning as certain phrases seemed to jump off the
page at him.

'...his long-term partner Mr
Harry Potter... Eyewitnesses attest to the 'cosy' and 'intimate'
manner between them...' And then there was a picture, Harry
seizing Draco's hand, murmuring something into his ear. And Draco
in the picture, tilting his head towards Harry, leaning into him,
following obediently after him into the sea of reporters.

Draco's hands gripped the edge of
the bench, his teeth clenching as memories since the murder attempt
flashed through his mind's eye in quick succession. He felt his
heart clench in the memory of the single bed in the apartment, the
horrified expressions on everyone's faces. Potter's bizarre
reaction the first night in the apartment when Draco had said he
hated him. Severus, the night he'd come to visit. 'Draco
doesn't know about you, it seems.'

And then the Thursday before, when
Harry had insisted upon going to work in the morning and they'd had
the big blow up argument. '...we were just friends,
you big drama queen, stop pretending like me not wanting to be best
friends with you anymore is killing you inside!'

And
Potter had retorted, 'It
is,
and we were more than...'

The
slow, intimate gesture before he left for work, his hand gently
stroking Draco's cheek.

Granger
and Pansy. 'You
need each other.'

And
every single bloody time, countless times it seemed, when someone had
hesitated over, 'you were...extremely good friends with Harry.'

The
clues piled up and up and until Draco felt like he was drowning in
them where he stood, and he wanted to Avada Kedavra himself for being
such an imbecile and not realising before. Yes, he had been
suspicious, yes Potter had been acting strangely, but this...?

Fury
unlike anything Draco had ever known boiled in his stomach, hot and
uncontrollable. They had...Potter had...everyone had been lying to
him, to his face, for a month? Not once had they thought he should
bloody know
that
before Animus, he and Harry had been LOVERS?!

Oh,
Potter was in for a world of pain.

His
emotions churned, too complicated for him to want to examine them
closely just yet. Shakily, he looked back over at Evander and Model
Boy and imagined himself and Potter in that position, kissing
passionately...

His
stomach heaved and his heart constricted and he groaned aloud,
burying his head into his hands on the counter. No. Best not to think
about that. He seized like a drowning man upon a rope to the fury in
his stomach, in his chest, and held on for dear life. They lied.
Potter lied. He had been in an apartment with Potter for weeks now
and no one thought to mention that before Animus they'd been
sharing the apartment as partners!

He
saw Potter now, threading through the tables and booths to the front
door. Draco wanted to charge and tackle him, beat the snot out of
him, make him comprehend what was going on inside him.

But
it was a public place...Draco glanced around at the multitudes of
people enjoying their dinner. His head cleared slightly, and an eerie
calm settled over him. At home...no, not home anymore, Potter's
apartment, because he was damned if he'd be sharing that place with
Potter any longer.

Potter
smiled at him, his eyes shining, and Draco saw it now, saw the
emotion he'd been struggling to figure out in those eyes. Love
beamed at him, and he wanted to shield himself. A fresh tidal wave of
anger washed over him. How he could presume...how he dared...

Harry's
brow furrowed as he took in Draco's appearance. He had gone deathly
pale, and there was a wild quality in his eyes, a perceptible tension
and pressure in his posture, the tightness of his shoulders.
Something was wrong.

"Draco?"
he said gently as he reached the front counter, his eyes full of
concern. "You okay?"

Heart
hammering, wondering what he'd done wrong, Harry did so, paying the
waitress at the cash register with a generous tip. The pair exited
outside and Harry cautiously offered his arm to Draco for the
Disapparation. Draco stared at him coldly for a moment before
reaching out and seizing his arm, holding it uncomfortably hard in a
vice-like grip.

They
turned and span into the rubber tube sensation now familiar to Draco,
and in moments found themselves standing beside their building. They
went up to the apartment in silence, Draco fuming, turning everything
over in his head and getting angrier and angrier, Harry following,
bewildered, in his wake.

Once
they were inside, the second the door was closed and locked, Draco
rounded on Harry.

"Potter!"
he screamed, quite beyond himself. He jabbed Harry in the chest with
a finger.

"W-what,
Draco?" Harry stammered, taken aback.

"DON'T...CALL...ME...DRACO,
YOU BLOODY LIAR!" Draco shrieked. "How long did you think you
could keep it a secret from me, huh? Tell me! How much longer would
it have been until you told me?"

"Told
you what?" Harry said weakly, but he already knew.

"That
you...that we..." Draco was gesturing between them, his face
contorted with rage. "That we were fucking lovers
before
I went to Animus! Boyfriends! Long-term
partners!
I saw that fucking Prophet article from Monday, our status splashed
across the front page as casual as could be, and no-one
bothered to tell me?"

It
was past the time for their glamours, and the appearances they had
adapted for Hogsmeade were rapidly shaping into their usual features.
Draco saw Harry's eyes shift, become almond-shaped and bright
emerald green once more, the scar slowly reappear on his forehead,
his hair lengthening, darkening, getting messier. Knew his own skin
was growing paler, his hair returning to ice-blonde, his eyes
resuming their usual shade of grey.

Well,
good. They should have this argument as themselves, not some
glamoured strangers.

"Draco,"
Harry pleaded now, earnestly, "We were going to tell you, I swear.
Honestly! I wanted you to know more than anything else, but when you
woke up and you hated me all over again, I couldn't do it. Having
you back with me, even hating me, was and still is better than being
apart from you. I love you so much, and..."

"Shut
UP, Potter!" Draco roared, wanting to throttle Potter for saying
that, wanting to throttle himself for his heart skipping a beat. He
turned away, clenching his fists and breathing heavily through his
nose, before whirling back around. "The bed!" he yelled.
"Bullshit that you were sleeping on the lounge, we slept together
in there, didn't we? And all that crap about becoming 'extremely
good friends' after my mother was tortured! We started going out in
school, didn't we?" When Potter said nothing, he stepped closer.
"I said, DIDN'T WE?"

"Yes,
yes," Harry cried, "towards the end of fifth year, but we did
become friends first, it just developed into something more!"

"Liars,"
Draco hissed, "you and your little friends, Merlin, even my fucking
friends! Blaise and Pansy! All liars! And I thought you not telling
me about my mother was bad, Potter..." his eyes sharpened. "That
first day, when you said you had a girlfriend, you lied then too
didn't you? Your fucking 'girlfriend' was me all along!"

"Draco,
please..."

"Have
you wanted me back all this time, Potter?" Draco sneered. "Have
you been crying yourself to sleep, wishing I hadn't gone to Animus
and woken up to myself? Hell, I'm glad
Lucia
Hevelle wanted to kill me! She gave me another chance, a chance at a
life as something other than Harry fucking Potter's boyfriend!"

Harry
was crying, tears streaming slowly down his cheeks. "You were
writing our story," he shouted. "That novel I said you were in
the middle of writing, it was about us! You wanted to write our story
down for the world, you told me you wanted to share our love with
everyone! You were in LOVE with me, Draco, we were so happy, of
course you wouldn't believe it, how could I have told you that?
Don't go saying you didn't enjoying it, you don't remember, you
can't know what it was like! You loved me every bit as much as I
loved and adored you!"

Draco
attempted to sneer but the tidal wave of feelings which had been
building steadily inside him was threatening to drown him, he just
wanted to scream and scream at Potter until it all went away. The
idea of him and Potter, in love...

"I
still do, Merlin help me!" Potter burst out, moving swiftly forward
so they were inches apart. "I love you Draco, love you, love you so
much, I still want you, still need
you..."

The
word made him stiffen, made him think of Pansy and Granger. 'You
need each other.'

"Well,
I don't need you!" Draco roared into Potter's face. "I don't
need
you, I don't
love
you, I don't
want
you and guess what, Potter? I NEVER WILL! So you can just let go
right now of any ideas you were entertaining that I would ever
fall
back in love with you...!"

Each
shouted word was like a tiny knife drilling into his heart. Harry
felt himself slowly collapsing, his wasted heart still pounding for
this boy, this man he loved, who hated him so much. Beyond words,
Harry did the only thing left to him he could do to try and convey
something to the blonde.

He
roughly reached out, grabbed the back of Draco's head and slammed
his mouth down against his, his hands curling into the silky blonde
strands, his mouth working desperately against Draco's lips,
pouring every bit of himself into the kiss, his guilt, his
frustration, his longing, his desire, his love. Draco was protesting,
wildly attempting to disengage himself, but Harry was damned if he
was going to let go now. His arms wrapped firmly around Draco,
crushing him against his chest, and Harry moaned despite himself into
Draco's mouth, dizzy with the sensations he'd missed so terribly
since Animus.

Draco,
meanwhile, was now drowning not only in the sheer volume of his own
emotions but in the fiery heat of Potter's kiss. He felt
lightheaded with the raw passion emanating from the dark-haired
wizard, felt like he would suffocate in the intensity of Potter's
grip. Merlin,
Potter could kiss. Mortifyingly, he could feel his body responding to
Potter, his blood rapidly heating, his muscles going obediently limp
in response to Potter's demanding arms, and despite himself, when
Potter moaned, he moaned, just a little bit, in response.

The
tiny part of his brain still capable of rational thought wouldn't
lie down, though. He
lied to you, it
reminded him. Remember?
Remember the fury, the anger? He was practically grooming you to
become his fuckbuddy all over again, when you had a chance at a new
life, a different life. One where you don't 'need' each other.

Fury
swelled in his gut once more and his eyes snapped open, his hands
coming up to rest on Potter's chest before he pushed with all his
might. He was slightly shorter than Potter, it was true, but his
slighter frame still held strength enough when he needed it, and the
gesture successfully dislodged Potter's mouth from his own and
freed him from the grip of his arms. He took several steps back for
good measure.

Potter's
chest was heaving, his eyes darkened with desire, his expression
first surprised and then pleading when he was the resolute spark of
anger in Draco's eyes. "Don't," he beseeched, "please don't
go..."

Draco
spun around before his body could betray him and fly back to that
delicious embrace. Still clinging to the thought that had reignited
his fury, he
lied to you...Draco
practically sprinted into the lounge room, straight to the fireplace,
wildly pointing his wand into the hearth as he went.

"Incendio!"
he yelled, and flames flared up in the fireplace. He seized the
little pot of Floo powder kept on the mantelpiece and flung the
glittering powder into the flames, haphazardly tossing it aside in
his haste to Floo away from the apartment. He flung a look over his
shoulder and saw Potter coming for him, hand outstretched, a panicked
expression on his face.

Draco
stepped into the bright green fire and called out the address of
Pansy and Blaise's home. Potter's face, with his eyes still dark
with desire, was the last thing he saw before he began to spin away,
away from the apartment he'd been sharing with Potter when they
were in love.

TBC

AN:
Oh...dear...god. Longest. Chapter. Ever.

...well!
There doesn't seem to be much I can say after that. The shit's
hit the fan now for Harry and Draco. Le gasp! Lovers?

I'm
not going to make this thing any longer than it already is,
so...please, please review and let me know what you thought? I'd be
much obliged.

Until
next time,

bleedingxheart

The author would like to thank you for your continued support. Your review has been posted.